Faces
by Thaumaturgy
Summary: In which Remus is perceptive, Tonks is confused, and Metamorphosis is contemplated.


**Faces**

Summary: In which Remus is perceptive, Tonks is confused, and Metamorphosis is contemplated.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Bugger. But at least the pairing is 100 genius canon, right?

* * *

She can still remember the first time she learned what being a Metamorphagus meant, really meant. She was five, at the park with her mother, full of the cocky knowledge that she was so much more free, so much more _special_, than the children around her, and a dart under the slide changed the small, shining-eyed girl with brown hair to a taller, thinner one, a few years older perhaps, blond and tan and with the same gleam, but in green eyes instead of brown. No one noticed the change—they simply saw a different child weave her way around the play structure, and come to a stop before a pleasant-faced woman with the same brown hair as Tonks' original.

"Mum!" the girl said, and the woman looked at her with a confused, "Hello, dear…" and that was when Tonks realized that something was wrong. "…Mum?" she said again, with a bit of a quiver beginning to creep into her voice, and her mother looked at her a moment more before her confusion changed to something a bit like panic. "Nymphadora!" she hissed, looking at Tonks for confirmation before continuing. "What are you doing Metamorphosing in a public place like this!"

"I'm sorry…" she said, sniffling now, and was quiet as her mother dragged her hastily to the car before anyone could notice that her mother was leaving with a different child than she'd arrived with.

Later, in Hogwarts, the lesson was cemented, and Tonks learned to put words to it; people simply did not recognize her when she changed anything more drastic than her hair, or eye color, or growing or loosing a few centimeters of height. People all identified her; indeed, identified everyone they knew, as she found out when she filled in for her friends when they ditched a few times, by what they looked like more than their actions. It was easy to become someone else, because all people really looked for was the face…the personality wasn't that hard to come by, really, when the face was there. And Tonks had loads of fun with that, when the lesson was learned…she could become anyone she wanted, or make up a person on the spot and be her, too, but it also made her wonder. Because, if a face is all people need, is the only thing necessary to really make them _them_, then where did someone who could have any face fit in? Did not having a set face mean she didn't have a set _her_, too? She thought about how she loved the Weird Sisters in all her shapes and faces, even the time she had pretended to be Professor McGonagall for a dare, and how no matter what she couldn't keep from breaking things, and thought that, whatever she looked like, who she actually was never changed; but then, she thought about how her mother, her own _mother_, hadn't recognized her on the playground, and how easy it was to pretend to be someone else, and she wasn't so sure.

* * *

It was the same when she came to the Order, really. She would tell the others beforehand what she was going to look like, so they could find her; the one time she hadn't, it had been like she wasn't there, and she had gotten a scolding from Mrs. Weasley for skipping out on duty before she protested that she _had_ been there, the whole time, she was the older lady in the pink coat with hair going grey at the edges, and Molly had looked a little embarrassed _(Just like her mother)_, and subsided. And it made her feel lonely, sometimes. Because she knew who she was, if she was anybody at all, so why couldn't anyone else ever tell?

* * *

Tonks first found out that she was in love with Remus Lupin two weeks and three days after he found her in the library. It wasn't even a very significant event; he liked to read, and she liked to read, so them running into each other in a place where books were the featured form of entertainment wasn't a very big deal. But what was significant, extraordinary even, was the fact that she had, almost unconsciously, slipped into another face at the time.

It was an entire other body, to be specific; smaller, more petite, with fine, delineated bones and long limbs, and pale skin, with a mass of dark hair (she blamed it on the influence of the gothic novel she was currently engaged in). She could not have looked less like her usual, tall, short-and-bright-haired self, and so it wasn't a surprise when Remus entering the room and greeting her with no more than a pleasant, distracted "Hello, Nymphadora" made her drop her book.

"**What** did you say?" she demanded, eyes wide and hair slipping short again, and a rather vibrant shade of green, from the surprise.

"Hello, I think," was his distracted reply, now coming from somewhere within the numerous bookshelves, and Tonks stared in the general direction for who-knows-how-long before shaking herself briskly and discarding both the book and her small, pale face as she left the room.

* * *

Later, after a brisk walk around the block, both for the exercise and because of the neighborhood, Tonks decided that, really, it had been a fluke. Had to be. Even her own **mother** didn't recognize her in a different face, so why would Lupin (a small part of her mind supplied _Remus_ instead, but she brushed it away irritably), a man she hadn't known more than a few months, and those not well, be able to? It had just been deductive reasoning…he had seen a strange person in the library, and known that she was a Metamorphagus, and known that she liked to go in the library, and that she wasn't on a mission, and put two and two together. It wouldn't have been hard; he was one of the smartest people she knew, really. But still…it still nagged her, because it just didn't seem to fit. So she decided, with a firm nod of her head as she entered the gloom of Number 12 Grimmauld Drive, to test her theory. Because there was no way he would ever recognize her…out of the house, for example.

* * *

She waited, planning determinedly and with a grin to herself at her own cleverness, and when, a week later, Lupin stopped in the kitchen and asked Molly in his pleasant, quiet, slightly distracted way if she wanted anything at the shop five blocks down, Tonks followed him. Two streets down she lost herself in an unruly crowd that had just discharged from the bus, breathing in engine oil as, in the space of a breath, her heart-shaped face and sunburned nose melted into that of a much older woman, long and doleful (Tonks had drawn her inspiration from a basset hound), gaining three and a third decimeters and much more wiry, iron-gray hair. She had never used this face before, and she was as far from her normal self as she could get—she knew, would have bet anything on the fact that Lupin—not Remus, for god's sake, this was getting ridiculous—wouldn't recognize her. He couldn't. But…she was doing it anyway. Because she had to be sure—a very small, stubborn part of her mind was saying that he would, and Tonks needed to prove to that bit that no, he wouldn't. She wasn't sure **why** she needed to prove it, but, considering how the way he had identified her, without even thinking about it—like it was normal—in the library had been plaguing her for the past week, Tonks was willing to go with the excuse that it was simply for her peace of mind.

Once out of the crowd, and mumbling about the utter disregard today's youth had for age—just because she wasn't actually in her late seventies was no excuse—Tonks headed for the store and spied her target immediately—head bent, as could have been expected, over the tea section. Tonks walked over there sedately and leaned past him, seemingly intent on a box of Earl Grey—"Excuse me" she said, sounding, in her opinion, exactly like an old woman with the rather unfortunate appearance of a doleful dog would sound—and Lupin blinked and looked up. "Hello, Nymphadora. What are you doing here?"

Tonks couldn't breathe, almost couldn't think, for several seconds, and the snappish "It's **Tonks**" that left her mouth was entirely for want of a better thing to say. "Yes, yes," he replied, and then his eyes—and it did absolutely nothing for whatever state of mind Tonks was in, she honestly couldn't tell what she was feeling, that she noticed the exact shade of deep, rich brown with, deep back, a slight wash of red that was warm and gave off, strangely, the same kind of comfort that she imagined he got from his tea and books that shone out at her—flicked up to her face and he frowned. "Are you feeling all right?"

"I'm perfectly fine," she said irritably, and his face cleared and he smiled. "Good. Then would you mind helping me carry the bags?"

* * *

Tonks thought about it later, lying on her back on her bed, frowning up at the slightly cobwebbed ceiling and worrying her lip. How did he do it? How did he know she was herself, even when she wasn't? It was—she didn't know **what** it was. Damn it!

What made everything even more frustrating, if course was the fact that Remus—oh, for the love of—Lupin, had left on an assignment. For a week. A whole bloody week. At the moment, Tonks wasn't sure if she wanted to interrogate him, or…or do something. That she wasn't going to think about, thanks.

* * *

That week Tonks broke her personal record for the number of broken plates—on the fourth day, Molly kindly but firmly banned her from the kitchen until future notice, and she retreated more to the library, where she paced, read while walking, and did just about everything she could to keep moving and sufficiently distracted. Tonks was—well, she liked to think she was more or less uncomplicated, especially with things like…like this. Oh, she might as well say it—in addition to the fact that she didn't get it, had absolutely no clue how he knew who she was even when she didn't look like herself; why did he know when no one else did?–she was thinking about his eyes. Kept thinking about then, until, irritated, she would slam the book she was holding closed and go make herself useful, as much as she could, somewhere else. She didn't do this—agonize over guys like this, even though she still was trying not to acknowledge that this was, in fact, what she was doing. He wasn't even her type; for one thing, he was almost 15 years older than her—15 years!—and for another, he…acted like it. For as long as Tonks could remember liking guys, they had had hair as colorful as hers usually was, and wore old Weird Sisters t-shirts and acted—young. She couldn't even imagine, of all things, **falling** for someone who drank tea and read books while his hands caressed the spine with something like love and who spoke in a quiet, cultured voice that was amused or distracted or passionate. Yet, here she was—pacing and wondering how, why he knew her. And thinking about his eyes.

* * *

He was back to Number 12 two days late, gray-streaked brown hair in his eyes and more lines in his face than normal. He headed to his room quickly, after a few words to Molly and a tired nod to Tonks who looked at him, eyes wide. And as much as she wanted answers, she waited until morning before marching to his door and pounding on it.

When Remus—she gave up—opened the door, his hair and clothes rumpled and small bags still under his eyes, Tonks steamrollered right over his bemused "Good morning" and pulled herself up to look him in the eye—she was almost his height, so it wasn't all that hard. "How did you know who I was?" she demanded, eyes set and determined not to notice his. He blinked. "Um…"

"In the library and the shop," she told him, impatient. "How did you know it was me?"

Remus looked at her for a moment, brow furrowed. "Well, it was obvious, wasn't it?"

"No, it was not!" she demanded. "I didn't look like myself, not at all! How did you know it was me?"

He sighed, raising his eyebrows a bit, and leaned against the doorframe like he could tell this would be a long conversation. "Was there any reason I shouldn't have?"

"Yes!" Tonks almost yelled, thoroughly exasperated. "It's not like anyone **else** ever recognizes me!"

He blinked. "Really?"

"Not even my own **Mum** got it!" she said, quieter, and watched as his face turned quiet and thoughtful. "I'm…not sure, I suppose. It just seems obvious to me."

"What does?" she pressed…the same feeling was nagging at her now that she felt when she had been dwelling on his eyes, and she'd be damned if she didn't pin down exactly what was going on, right now, and to hell with the fact that it was only four.

"You walk the same," Remus said, rather suddenly, like he hadn't exactly known what was going on either. "Whatever you look like. And, in the library, you sit like that all the time, curled up, and I know Earl Grey is your favorite." It could have been, no, was almost certainly Tonks' imagination, but she thought he might have been almost blushing.

"Oh," she said, quietly than she had said anything else so far this morning—and then she looked up, meeting his eyes and fully savoring the richness of them, and smiled. "Thank you, Remus. This has cleared a lot of things up for me."

"Glad to hear it," he replied after a moment, conducting his own scrutiny of her face now. "Will that be all?"

"Yes, it will," she declared, and hummed random snippets of tune all the way back to her room.


End file.
